


Fluttering

by wakandan_wardog



Series: On the Wing [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-04-28 20:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14457363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandan_wardog/pseuds/wakandan_wardog
Summary: Tony Stark is about to have hundreds of guests (that he doesn't want) at his family mansion (which he cannot stand). He's really not looking forward to it... but an unexpected Pirate with a few Party Favors might change his mind. (Some snippets that lead up to Turtledove).





	1. Chapter 1

The sprawl of a New York Mansion automatically radiates wealth and stature, marble floors and railings, coffered ceilings, a grand ballroom, a cherry wood library, a gentleman’s smoking parlor. Tony wanders through it all in a disconnected, working daze. His blue, black and white wings are folded tight to his back, a sign of tension. Now and again they stretch and flutter, an attempt to ease his discomfort, telegraphing his wish to take flight. Pepper carries on about the library, the smoking parlor, the living room and lounge. This room will be easy, in terms of install, this one won’t. On and on. 

Being back at the Stark Mansion in New York is difficult, but important (or so Pepper keeps saying). For his part, Tony had smiled and nodded when she spoke, following her obediently around the ballroom as she offered ideas to make the place feel more at home. Tony wants to shoot the gaudy chandelier where it hangs, watch it explode on the floor, and then fly out one of the large windows before Pepper can react. But he won’t, because she’d catch him and the lecture would be brutal. 

Regardless, she seems to know what he’s thinking because she gives him a warning glare. Now and again she stretches her wings to extend her reach or call particular attention to a point of the ceiling, inquiring about where Tony thinks it best to install sensors for JARVIS's cameras and various security and bio scans. JARVIS is necessary before the party, but apparently Pepper thought it was easier to wrangle caterers, invitations, wait staff, valets, and fittings before actually advising Tony that the Maria Stark Gala was going to be at Stark Mansion. 

Which was a good thing, since everything but JARVIS is in place so the only thing he can do is violently protest, and then go along with her plan anyway. Pepper’s wings flare, feathers fluffing in warning when he argues, sleeking down when he acquiesces. It’s too close to change her mind, and he knows it. She stretches and then folds her wings, straightens the jacket on her suit, and clicks off on towering heels to do one more loop of the house to ensure nothing has been overlooked. Wordlessly Tony follows, awed and terrified by her brilliance and efficiency. 

Tony likes Pepper's wings, partly because she was one of the few he knew with a common-pattern who wore it with grace. He had told her that once and she had laughed at him, saying that blue jay wings were as extravagant as a common-pattern could be and he clearly had a skewed point of view. People usually weren't impressed by his wings though, so Tony wasn't sure why she'd make such a comment. 

They'd be even less impressed if they saw the arc reactor, but for a multitude of reasons he kept that to himself. 

Still, rather than extravagant parrot feathers or sleek-angled bird of prey wings, Pepper's wings were that of a cardinal. A female, so they started a soft grey at the base and edged through shades of red and orange along the wingbacks themselves. Her first few flight feathers ended in a dusk-rose shade that Tony told her was flattering, especially when she wore silver or charcoal dresses. He wasn't sure she believed him or not, but when she'd arrived at the mansion she had admitted her gown for the evening was a backless charcoal number. 

She had blushed when she said it, and to Tony it felt like victory. He'd smirked at her and preened, fanning his blue wings wide and stroking at glinting feathers with tan fingers until she stalked over and poked him in the ribs. 

"Don't you go flaunting at me, Anthony Stark!" She'd scolded him. "I still expect you in that midnight suit and black shirt. Your tie and pocket square will be a good electric shade to match those flashy bars of yours, and that's as wild as you will get. You understand me? No flashy metal additions, no wardrobe modification. Understated. Elegance." 

He'd meekly folded his wings and nodded, making his eyes as large and soulful as he could manage. She'd narrowed her eyes even more, but nodded. "Good. Fury has some very important guests attending and I assured him we'd be on our best behavior. Since we're not in weapons anymore, it's important to play nice with shadowy government agencies so they continue to buy armor, tech, and communications devices." 

"I don't really do well at good behavior." Tony murmured, curling his left wing around to groom it gently. "Do I, J?" 

"No, Sir." JARVIS murmured, sounding extremely fond. "But as I understand, this is why you are ensuring I will be fully operational within the mansion? So that I may assist you in achieving this not-insignificant goal?" 

At the AI's cheeky tone, Tony couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. Let's get going then, I'm gonna need you sooner rather than later." 

"You always do, Sir. You always do." 

*

Tony will never admit it, but there’s a sort of thrill in bolting around the mansion and installing ports for JARVIS’s network of sensors. It’s not the sort of project that leaves him pleasant company, so once she’s helped him drape sheets over furniture that couldn’t be moved, Pepper waves and departs. Tony immediately takes flight, a drill in hand, safety goggles on, and JARVIS harping away in a communicator at his ear. The bots trail behind him obediently with a veritable buffet of tech tidbits, offering him install ports, cameras, and a fresh drill battery when the current one dies. 

After a few hours of insistent clicking and begging, Tony waves them off to their own project, designed by JARVIS. DUM-E takes care of drilling and installing cameras and sensors at eye-level, U beeping supportively as they work and pass objects between them. For the most part, Tony watches from above but lets them be, knowing JARVIS is supervising and content to let them enjoy their time outside of the shop. 

Tony won’t admit it to Pepper, but he sleeps like the dead for eight hours and wakes up to rush back to work. There’s a manic sort of joy in the project, making his flight sharp, filled with dramatic drives and twists much to the delight of his robot audience. With the help of the Bots he manages to wire up the ground floor, all doors that access the yard, porch, and garden as well as the overlooking floor for the grand ballroom, leaving only the bedrooms unmonitored. It’s not a bad piece of work for two days effort. 

JARVIS deems this suitable as the Master suite is the exception, and reminds Tony that he has a teleconference while the movers and cleaners arrive to make the ground floor presentable. There are at least two teams in the garden as well, establishing a great tent on the green and draping it with hundreds of fairy lights. Tony watches their movements from his window, noting the veritable ocean of wing colors and shapes displayed outside. The party is tomorrow night, and everything that can be arranged ahead of time is done. 

Struck by an onset of nerves, he folds his arms over his belly and leans on the railing of the balcony, overlooking the back yard. “Think we’re ready for this, J?” 

“As ever, Sir, I am with you.” The AI responds gently. 

Though he’d deny it, tension melts out of Tony’s spine and wings at the agreement, and he gives a faint nod. “Thanks buddy… I appreciate it.” 

“My pleasure, Sir.” 

*


	2. Chapter 2

Steve can say what he likes, Bucky does not agree that the future is _a swell time_. Mostly because the future is filled with assholes like Nick Fury, who summons them to a remote aircraft carrier right after they wrap a three week stealth mission. And by “summon” Bucky means, the asshole pulls rank on the guys flying their jet and has them delivered to the godforsaken middle of the ocean, to a hideous mass of concrete and steel, insisting he needs an immediate meeting and debrief. This entails a three hour flight out of their way, will result in at least an hour long meeting in which they’re expected to stand, and then will likely include an equally long ride back to whatever the nearest mass of land with a SHIELD base on it happens to be. 

Bucky, still dressed in tac gear and bristling with weapons, would rather just jump the chain of command and provide Fury with a minor demonstration as to why this meeting should not be considered more important than letting them go home and shower. Steve pulled the ‘I’m the Captain’ card and said no. He’s got maybe one more punch on that ticket before he’s used it up, so Buck hopes he’s happy with choosing to cash in on today. So far, it’s been a total fucking waste of time. 

Unsurprisingly, the bridge of this ridiculous construction is bustling with people and chatter. As the pair of them walk in and stand at parade rest, awaiting Fury to notice or address them directly, Bucky plants one heel and slings his left hip out slightly, rolling the weight of his metal shoulder into a comfortable resting position. Steve stands at parade rest slightly in front of him, the shield left behind so his wings can flex freely. The staff of the bridge is doing a weird mix of ignoring them like hell, and hanging on every word Fury says above them, but Buck gets the feeling they’re listening for a dressing down rather than for actual orders. 

The fact that there isn’t a peaceful pair of wings in the room speaks volumes. They’re all upright, spiky with attention or shivery with nerves. Not a damn one of them has a decent ounce of spy craft, and Bucky’s got maybe twenty more minutes of mental entertainment in listing their deficiencies before even he is in need of new material. 

He makes it fifteen and a half. 

Annoyed at their lack of subtlety when they gawp around computer monitors at him, Bucky then drops his bland Soldier Face and lets the Winter Soldier peer out at the nearest paper pusher. His good behavior has lasted a record seventeen minutes, but only because he can’t make eye contact with Steve from where he stands. If he had, it probably would have been less. 

The man squeaks, honest to god, and fumbles a cup of pens from the desktop. It hits the floor with a crash, writing implements and ceramic shards flying in every direction. Across the room, Coulson lowers his head for a moment, hugging a stack of files to his chest. In front of him, Steve heaves a heartfelt sigh. Bucky’s smile may as well be full of fangs. 

“Captain Rogers.” Fury grits out through clearly clenched teeth, leaning over the railing of the bridge to glare at the two men standing below. It’s a power play, pure and simple, emphasized by the half-unfurled position of Fury’s wings. From here all Steve can tell is that they’re solid and black; likely crow, raven or vulture. It suits him, as much as the black leather jacket and the eyepatch and the general _sheer theater_ of a giant, flying, aircraft carrier. 

_‘What the fuck is this?’_ Bucky had asked as they’d landed on the flight deck as instructed. 

_‘Big damn boat?’_ Steve had guessed, watching as the jet was secured and then a signal given. 

Then the damn thing had taken flight. 

Bucky’s eye roll had been epic, but he’d put on his best soldier mask and folded his kestrel patterned wings to his back. Standing back and to Steve’s left, he’d obediently followed when a helpful agent had materialized to lead them to Fury for their standard post-mission dressing down. Of course, possibly since this was their seventh since they’d been cleared to work, Fury had decided to change things up and dish this one out from the bridge of his secret, potentially illegal, stealth-tech equipped flying military base. So, that was different. 

But when loose among the populace, the Winter Soldier began terrorizing anyone within reach. 

That was depressingly familiar. 

“Commander Fury?” Steve replies blandly. “You sent for us, said it was urgent?” 

Fury looks at the Captain, at his sky blue eyes and professional masked expression, then glances over his shoulder to where the Winter Soldier is stationed. The Soldier meets his eye with an icy gaze, hands twitching closer to the knives strapped to his thighs. It’s a warning and a challenge all at once, and Fury knows that. But they all know that there isn’t anyone skilled enough to last against the Soldier if he decides to go for a weapon, besides the man that’s standing in front of him like a shield. 

“Perhaps we should speak in my office.” 

“Whatever you think is best, Sir.” Steve murmurs blandly, his tone cool and face statue-smooth. Butter wouldn’t melt in that mouth right now. 

“This way, then.” 

Bucky gives another evil grin as they leave the room, snapping his teeth and then swaggering into the hall with a self-satisfied flare of his wings. Steve taps him with one, shooting a glare over his shoulder before stretching his stride until he’s walking even with Fury. Out of sheer stubbornness Bucky maintains his place behind them, adopting his typical Winter Soldier walk and just ghosting down the hall after them. 

He can tell from Fury’s posture and the way the man turns his head that he’s fighting not to look back every three steps, wondering what Bucky is up to. Good, let him wonder. Bucky’s not gonna speed up just to ease his conscience, he doesn’t serve masters anymore. Maybe Fury will get tired of trying to keep his only eye on both Steve and Bucky, and will just go ahead and spit out whatever it is so they can get the hell out of here. 

When Bucky finally meanders through the door of Fury’s office and closes it behind him, Fury’s already seated behind his desk. “So, I need you two for a Black Tie Gala function, tomorrow night.” 

Bucky freezes, leaning against the door. A **what** now?


	3. Chapter 3

The next evening they’re standing in the small apartment they share, staring at themselves in the full-length mirror in Steve’s studio. There are easels of half-finished work along the far wall and window, and trays and boxes of paint and tools along the side wall of the room. Drop clothes are folded here and there, rolled off of a small patch of floor so their dress shoes are not in danger of half-dried paint. 

For his part, Bucky would throw the damn things out the window or drop them in a bucket of the ugliest color Steve owns if it meant he could switch into tac gear and combat boots. But Steve can read him like a book and had forbid it on pain of bodily harm and hours of tedious paperwork. The threat seems less and less daunting all the time, but that may just be Bucky’s un-armored body talking. 

“The next time you fall, can you avoid taking me down with you?” Bucky mutters as he glares at his reflection, wings fluffed in irritation as he rotates his shoulder. The metal of his arm clicks and hisses beneath the fabric, and he’s annoyed by the constraint as well as the inherent farce. “Ya sure I can’t tear the sleeves off the shirt and jacket on one side? Fury gets to wear his stupid cape thing, so I should at least not have to cover my arm. Nothing says ‘formal affair’ like breaking out the fine china and _elite fucking assassins_ , Steven.” 

The reflection glaring back at him cuts a decent figure, wearing a fitted suit that’s black on black. There’s a thin silver stripe on his tie, someone’s idea of a joke he’s certain, and a silver pocket square that matches. Against the soft white, grey and black of his wings the colors work, but it makes the russet of his wingbacks stand out all the more. If they’re gonna make him a target, shouldn’t he be allowed to wear tac gear? Behind him, Steve snorts, rolling his eyes like he can hear Bucky’s thoughts. 

“Did you go to a different meeting than me? I tried to get us out of it.” Steve grumbles, blue eyes narrow and snapping with annoyance over Bucky’s shoulder. “He pulled rank on his both. He runs SHIELD, we work for SHIELD, so he runs us. Besides, they covered the suits, so no you can’t go tearin’ pieces off of it. You wanna go argue with him?” 

“How is Fury our boss, again? I thought we got outta the military. Ya know, by dying and winding up on ice?” Bucky growls, teeth bared. “I don’t argue. I stab my problems until they go away, usually by dying.” 

“Seems like that’s not as permanent as you might think.” Rubbing at the back of his neck like he’s got a headache, Steve sighs. “You can’t kill our boss, Bucky. Joining SHIELD was the right thing to do, I just, didn’t think there’d be all these politics to come along with that.” 

“Don’t they say the right thing ain’t easy?” Bucky offers, feeling bad for putting the sulky look on his best friend’s face and the droop in his once-proud wings. Steve ain’t exactly bounced back from their last operation yet either, even if he got about eight hours of sleep the previous night, when all was said and done. “And I could, you just don’t want me to. There’s a _difference_ , Steven.” 

Silently, Steve keeps reaching over to brush feathers into place, a dead-giveaway of his nerves. It’s a classic tell, for him. Steve always grooms Bucky’s wings when he’s nervous, his fingers finding and smoothing the feathers by instinct. Because he’s equally nervous, Bucky allows it, continuing to glare at his reflection for long minutes. 

The suit looks good but pulls tight over his chest, the pants hug his legs, and all of it seems to attract attention to him. Attention is the last thing he wants, so he grits his teeth and shoots Steve a sulky look. “Seriously, if that eye-patch wearing jackass gets to sweep in like he’s a reject from the Matrix, why we gotta wear this? Why can’t we just wear tac gear?” 

“It’s a black tie event?” Steve echoes blankly, fidgeting with the short feathers near the wrist of Bucky’s right wing. Considering Bucky had smacked a Hydra agent upside the head with it and then dove through a wall, the fact that there aren’t broken feathers is a miracle. Still, Steve seems to find fault in how the feathers lay, because he grabs a damp cloth and brushes it over them until they settle into place. “Fury’s not staying he’s just getting us in. I guess the rules are different. There, now you’re presentable.” 

“Yippee for me.” Bucky growls through gritted teeth, stepping out of the way. “Get up here and let me look at you, at least.” 

“Just be glad you’re in black, alright?” Steve sighs, sliding into place in front of the mirrors as he was ordered. 

Bucky has to admit he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on there. Steve’s suit is blue on blue on blue, a bit of a nod to his stealth suit unless Bucky is mistaken. It’s a good look, navy shirt under a brushed cobalt vest and jacket with matching pants. The tie is navy like the shirt, but there’s a thin silver stripe through it that’s complimentary to Bucky’s own tie. It works for Steve, but it’s noticeable. Eye-catching. It looks especially charming when Steve’s wings are open, white undersides with black and rust barring framing the color nicely. From the back, the red-brown of his wing backs are almost silhouetted against a dusk-deep piece of sky. 

Maybe wardrobe has a crush on Steve. Bucky can’t fault them for their good taste. He shrugs and smiles. “I am, trust me. Think Fury did it on purpose?” 

“At this point, I don’t really care.” Steve sighs. “He’s dragging us along as representatives of SHIELD, so suits are on him. Otherwise, we would be in tac gear and I would at least have entertainment in the form of you and he fighting over knives all night.” 

Pausing in his careful grooming of feathers, Bucky shoots his friend a sympathetic look in the mirror. “Stevie, if you think I ain’t goin’ armed just cuz this is a fancy suit for a fancy party, you got another thing comin’.” 

Steve freezes, worry flaring through his wings until they fan out and nearly fill the room. “Bucky!” 

“Don’t you _Bucky_ me.” The Winter Soldier grits out, eyes gone blank and gray as he prods the massive wings back into a half-folded position so he can glare at his best friend in the mirror. “I’m takin a gun and at least two knives, and that’s final.” 

Steve hesitates, unwilling to physically fight to change his mind, and something like curiosity winning out. “How are you getting a gun into a black tie event?” 

“You just leave that to me.” The Winter Soldier smirks, and there’s ice in it. 

“… I hate it when you say things like that.” 

*

“You assholes behave, hear me?” Nick Fury hisses as he leads the way up smooth marble steps and through a set of elegant double doors. The doormen don’t even make eye contact with him, opening the doors wide and waving him, Steve and Bucky on through. 

Bucky notices that neither of them have flashy wings, surprisingly enough. For some reason, he was expecting even the door attendants to have peacock feathers, but that may have just been because of the mile long driveway that lead to this damn mansion on a hill. Still, they seem like ordinary folks. 

One seems to have patterning like a wood dove, and the other’s look like a woodpecker variation. The dove gives him a curious look as he passes, but ducks his head when their eyes meet by accident. Bucky smirks, ignoring Steve’s final pleading look as he steps through the open doors and into the noise of a busy gala affair. 

There are golden lights everywhere. Glittering on the chandelier, wall sconces around the room, draped around the windows. Beneath them mill people with wings of all shades, clad in expensive clothes and priceless gems. Light glitters and bounces from surface to surface, pillowed in each crystal glass and lingering on every champagne bubble. The whole place just sings of luxury, wealth, and power. 

No wonder Fury looks nervous, there are no shadows to lurk in here. Well, Bucky’s spent more than a lifetime in the shadows and he’s not real keen to head back there. So with Steve at his side he lifts his chin, tilting it at the room in a quiet challenge. 

Steve meets the look and nods, lifting his own chin and folding his large wings close to his back. Ahead of them stalks Fury, a nervous agitation in his gait as he clears the doorway and moves down the flight of stairs. If he’s not comfortable, Bucky’s half-considering moving in here on the spot. 

Stepping into the ballroom of Stark Mansion just a half-stride behind Fury, Bucky’s body language is all lazy swagger and Steve is proud but tense enough to snap. They hesitate for a moment, evenly poised at the first step, then move down smoothly after. Bucky lets Steve have a half-stride on him, walking to his best friend’s left, eyes automatically scanning the room. 

Fury moves on ahead of them, drifting right, his trench coat billowing dramatically. His raven wings are tense and folded close to his back, telegraphing unease. It makes Bucky smirk, his wings flaring as he prowls along like a lazy shadow. The Winter Soldier’s hunting step is in each stride, and he moves across the room with ease as people skitter out of his way. 

Every now and then a dame will hesitate, shooting him a smile. He smirks at one or two, making contact with a redhead in a daring backless number. She doesn’t smile, but her eyes are amused and the curl of her lips might be a smirk. She gets a wink, because Bucky would recognize Natalia anywhere, but he doesn’t call out to her. In reply she lifts her glass of champagne, a silent toast. 

He doesn’t think Steve notices, but with a glance it’s clear that Steve is operating the way he always does in tense, social situations. He goes formal, body language that of a soldier in spite of his nice suit, eyes forward, jawline tense. He gives firm, formal nods now and again, thanking people that move out of his way, but he doesn’t notice when the women smile or the men look at him appraisingly. 

Bucky is gonna tease him about it later, he’s sure of it. 

Steve and Bucky have both been advised that he’s just there to get them into the door, introduce them to the host, and then leave. They’re on their own for the rest of the evening, but if they start a fight or kill someone Fury’s sure to hear of it. Bucky hasn’t counted out starting a brawl just for the hell of it, but for the moment he’s content to behave himself. 

He wants to meet the fancy son-of-a-gun that’s important enough that Fury trots out his Vintage Military boys in their modern formalwear. Of course, the minute Fury halts he’s rethinking matters. There’s a compact brunet man standing with his back to Fury, the overhead lights glittering over his bright jay-patterned wings. He’s speaking to three women in fancy gowns and two men in suits, and as he talks and gestures they all break into an elegant flutter of laughter. 

Fury sweeps up without regard for manners, hesitating to the blue jay’s right with a pointed sound. The jay notices him, gently ushering the others away before turning to face the black-clad man. Incidentally, it means he’s facing Steve and Bucky too, and Bucky goes stock-still. To his right, Steve does the same, his face losing some of the nervous mask in favor of sudden curiosity. 

The stranger smirks at Fury and looks past him, lifting an eyebrow as he considers Steve. Bucky braces himself but still isn’t prepared when whiskey colored eyes hit him like lightning, making him half-flare his wings as he halts to ensure he remains on his feet. _Hello, Gorgeous._

So maybe this whole party thing ain’t such a waste after all. 

Bucky's just found himself a songbird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buck's sorta stealing the show on this, hopefully in future chapters Steve can step up to the spotlight a little. XP
> 
> Please read and enjoy the fic, and be kind in any comments so that others may have a positive experience.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve is reasonably confident that he can walk onto any battlefield, and walk off again, as long as he’s got Bucky. He reminds himself of this as the double doors open, as they follow Nick through the building, as they descend the steps into the ballroom while a crowd watches and mills about. Crowds have never been Steve’s forte, even when he was on the stage with the USO tour. 

Before the war Bucky had been the one to find the dames, to go out drinking all night, to tear up a dance floor. It hadn’t ever been Steve’s scene. Sure, he can make an impassioned speech in the thick of a combat situation, but thinking up clever comments to wow a rich crowd is not in his skillset. Without a shield, in front of a crowd, Steve Rogers feels out of his depth. 

Trying to ignore the wealthy, influential people he should probably be charming for all he’s worth, Steve pays attention to Nick as they walk down the steps. Once again on flat, solid ground he then looks dead ahead, acknowledging people that move out of their way with a nod only when it seems they have actually made eye contact. If he can avoid it, he will, hoping to just get to whomever they needed to meet and get it over with. 

Of course, then Nick gets the guy attention and when he turns around, Steve feels the air leave his lungs in a rush. The blue jay winged man is beautiful, golden skinned and whiskey eyed, his dark facial hair meticulously styled, his hairstyle just one step short of indecent bedhead. The suit is expensive, fitted and -in Steve’s mind- would look _so much better_ on the floor. But damn, he does wear it well. 

“Stark.” Fury’s speaking through gritted teeth. “As agreed, I brought two of my operatives-” 

"Which is not to say you haven’t sent three more in what you consider _“undercover”_ …” Tony bared his teeth in a snarl, eyes glinting dangerously. “If you think I don’t recognize Tasha, Hill and the Agent, just because you give them half-decent threads, you’re sadly mistaken. And frankly? I’m insulted.” 

“Not the point, Stark.” Fury growls, and to Bucky’s ear that’s as good as an admission. 

“Oh yes, you were going to explain your tall and handsome associates… My, my Nick, what on _Earth_ have you brought me? Never mind answering, I think I’ll go see for myself.” Tony Stark smiles, all teeth and flashing eyes, as he swaggers around the Shield Director and into Bucky’s space. “Hello Gorgeous.” 

For his part Bucky smirks, wings fanning out slightly as he leans forward slightly. “That’s my line, Doll.” 

Steve rocks on his heels, shifting left out of desire to get closer to the elegant stranger. He fights a smile as he watches Nick bristle, black wings fluffing in outrage before he slowly turns to watch Stark as he strides into Bucky’s personal space without hesitation. Bucky doesn’t pay Nick the slightest amount of attention, focused on the songbird, and Steve can’t blame him. 

“Doll, hmm?” Tony smirks, one hand reaching out to brush the back of his fingers against Bucky’s jacket where it buttons near the waist. “That’s an awfully old-fashioned thing to call someone, Soldier Boy.” 

“I’m an old fashioned kinda’ guy.” Bucky murmurs, a smile curling across his lips as Stark continues to stroke at the jacket for a moment before letting his hand drop. “That a problem for you, Sugar?” 

“Not in the least.” The shorter male smiles, eyes glittering. “I’m Tony, you got a name to go with that sexy murder walk and that jawline of yours?” 

“James, tho’ friends call me Bucky.” Bucky responds without hesitation, metal hand reaching out to stroke at the fabric of Tony’s tie. “You’re pretty spiffy lookin’, Songbird, this your party?” 

“Why, you wanna skip it and find someplace quieter?” Tony laughs, stepping out of reach and meandering over to Steve. “Now you, tall, golden and handsome. You look edible in that suit of yours, I wouldn’t expect Nick to have such good taste.” 

“Rumor is Maria arranged for the suits.” Steve murmurs, grinning and catching Tony’s hand before it can wander out to fondle the buttons of his jacket. Once the fingers are caught, he raises them gently to his lips for a light kiss. “Nice to meet you, Tony, I’m Steve.” 

“Mmmm, Captain America and his Winter Soldier, in my ballroom.” Tony purrs, wings flaring slightly as he shoots Steve a look from beneath his lashes. “I must have been a very, _very_ good boy.” 

“Even if you haven’t, we’d be the last ones to judge.” Bucky smiles, ignoring the glare Fury shoots his direction. “Steve likes to fixate on manners, but he usually offers a pretty decent incentive for good behavior.” 

Hand still caught in Steve’s gentle grip, Tony glanced to Bucky and then arched an eyebrow at the Captain. “Is that so?” 

“I see no harm in encouraging proper behavior if the occasion calls for it.” Steve replied primly, shooting Bucky a warning look when the brunet swayed into his and Tony’s space. “Sometimes Buck needs encouragement.” 

“I can support that... And you do seem like you can be _so_ encouraging, Captain.” Tony offers in a low tone, giving Bucky a flirty look. “You the incorrigible sort, Soldier Boy?” 

“Only if my fella wants me to be.” Bucky smirked, reaching out to rest his hand on Tony’s hip. “How about we adjourn to someplace quieter to discuss it?” 

“Ohh, I think I like you.” Tony rumbled, rolling his head languidly on his shoulders to glance from one to the other. “Yes, I think I like you both. Nick, you can leave now, you’ve delivered your party favors and are no longer required.” 

“Stark-” Fury begins behind them, swearing low under his breath when Steve tucks one of Tony’s hands around his forearm and Bucky steps up to take the other. 

“You’re leaving now, Nicky.” Tony tosses over his shoulder with a glare. “Don’t wait up for your boys… They won’t be home.” 

Bucky laughed, pressing close to Tony until he was comfortably framed between the bulk of his body and Steve’s. “Keeping us, Dollface?” 

“I am now, Soldier Boy.” Tony paused, glancing up at Steve in a mute challenge. “You got a problem with that, Captain?” 

“Not in the slightest, Bright Eyes.” Steve grinned, stretching his wing out to wrap around Tony’s back protectively. “You just lead the way.” 

“Oh, we’re going to have _so_ much fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is a pretty good place to end Fluttering? But I guess if people want more in this verse they can lemme know. >.>


End file.
